


No Good

by ClockworkCourier



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Bad Flirting, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Jacob Seed versus Emotions, Making Out, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bad kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkCourier/pseuds/ClockworkCourier
Summary: And before Rook can ask him why he bothered to chase her down, he does the opposite of everything she thinks he’ll do and goes in to kiss her.He sucks at it.





	No Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221BFakerStreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BFakerStreet/gifts).



> watch as the spirit of jacob seed runs into my house, punches me in the jaw, and kills me instantly for treating him like this.
> 
> also [the original prompt](http://radiojamming.tumblr.com/post/174191514141/djs-far-cry-5-writing-masterpost) from the lovely [221bfakerstreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BFakerStreet)

The first time they kiss is… memorable. 

It’s memorable because both of them are filthy; Rook is covered in mud and pine needles like some backwoods attempt at tarring and feathering. Jacob has  _someone’s_  blood on him, although Rook can’t quite figure out who it belongs to. He wears a fashionable impression of arterial spray across his face and neck, and there are four bloody finger prints on his throat from where someone apparently tried (and failed miserably) to choke him out.

All those Hallmark movies that extol the virtues of kissing in the rain are bullshit, because it’s raining so hard that Rook has very real worries about mudslides. Her boots are sloshing with every step, and Jacob approaches her like a drunken sasquatch, his footing heavy and unsure. Rook doesn’t run into his arms, because first of all, she can’t run for shit in this weather, and second, if she attempted to jump into Jacob’s arms, she’d probably just knock both of them over and they’d both get concussed. 

So, instead, she drops a  _very_  eloquent and romantic, “The  _fuck_  do you want?”

Jacob huffs like an asthmatic grizzly, and she has to remind herself that even though he’s at some kind of peak physical fitness, he’s closer to fifty than thirty. 

He doesn’t answer until he gets close enough to her that she can see the rain making little clear creases in the blood on his face. His nose is red, because it’s stupidly cold, and he reaches up to wipe at it with his wrist. He has a pretty good-sized split in his lip, too, and she thinks that one might be her fault. 

In short, if this is her version of Mr. Darcy, she’s apparently scraped the bottom of the bargain bin.

Finally, in a voice like sandpaper on a cactus, he grinds out, “I have run four  _fucking_  miles after you.” Then, he grunts, stepping over a tree root, yanking hard on his left leg when his boot sinks an inch too deep in a mud puddle, before he’s finally right in front of her. 

No matter what, he’s still terrifying in his own way. Yes, he looks like someone tried to drown him, and Rook thinks that he might be exhausted enough that if she did decide to pounce on him, he probably wouldn’t get back up for while. However, he’s still Jacob Seed, all six-foot-whatever, built like a stack of cinder blocks. This man has killed people with his bare hands. Judging by the blood on his face, he just did it again within the past few hours.

And before Rook can ask him why he bothered to chase her down, he does the opposite of everything she thinks he’ll do and goes in to kiss her.

He sucks at it.

His hands are unsure, so he puts them on her shoulders until apparently he judges that it isn’t quite right. They move to her waist, then her hips, and then he seems to think they don’t belong anywhere yet, so they hang useless at his sides. As for his actual kissing, she tries to give him a pass in that both of them are soaked to the proverbial bone. His lips are  _freezing_ , and she thinks his nose is still running. 

Granted, she  _is_  kissing him back, because it’s already been a weird day (week? month?  _lifetime?_ ) and making out with one of the Seeds just seems like the topping on the eldritch cupcake that her life is turning out to be. Her hands are on his face, feeling the strange texture of his scars, thumbs swiping at some dead person’s blood. She tries to ignore the fact that he goes still at weird times, and then bites her at the next moment.  _Tries_  is the operative word, because at some point, the white flag has to go up.

She takes the collar of his uniform jacket and gently tugs it back.

He looks at her, his stupidly pretty eyes just as bright as always. She’s close enough to see that, yes, his nose is still running. He works his jaw like he isn’t sure if he used it right, and part of her wants to say that he might want to put some WD-40 on it.

Instead, she just gives him some kind of grin (maybe a little constipated) and pats his face like he’s a delightfully stupid dog. 

He doesn’t say anything. No apologies for kissing like a deceased pufferfish. No questions about if she thought he kissed like one. His silence is heavy and thoughtful, which reminds her of sullen guys in the drunk tank back at the sheriff’s office.

“So,” she says.

He grunts.

“I’ll, uh–” She clears her throat, her left hand still curled into his jacket. Then, she makes a little strained noise that seems equal parts distress and delight. She stands up on her toes and presses a kiss against his (still very bloody) cheek, before letting go of him. “See you around?”

Another grunt. Then a slow nod. He might be turning red, but that might also be blood and rainwater.

\- - -

Jacob seems to take their first kiss as an unspoken challenge. Rook deliberately doesn’t bring it up again, because it seems to gnaw at Jacob more that she acts like it never happened. Their radio calls are still dry exchanges of military and psychological metaphors on his side, and vague insults and retorts on hers. Honestly, she could probably just announce, “Hey! Jacob Seed made out with me in the woods and he sucked at it!” over the radio and the whole conflict might be over quicker. However, she thinks better of it, because he’s still a sniper and she doesn’t want to give him a reason to practice his aim on her. The Whitetail Mountains are still terrifying enough as it is.

Their normal banter goes on for about a week, until suddenly Jacob changes his tone. 

Of all the people Rook could be travelling with at the time, it’s Adelaide. Most of their hikes through the woods are full of a one-sided conversation full of things like comparing Jacob to a side of beef, wondering if he has a six-pack, hoping that maybe he’s so in tune with nature that he bathes in the river, and taking estimates on how big his  _rifle_  is. 

Halfway through a hike around Cedar Lake, Adelaide pauses and looks at the sky in thought, like someone is going to skywrite the exact statistics of Jacob’s genitalia. 

“You think he’s got a chode or–”

“ _Addie!”_ Rook hisses, and even checks to make sure she hasn’t accidentally keyed her radio. If Jacob overheard them, Rook might just have to drown herself in the lake out of mortification. 

Adelaide shrugs. “It’s an honest question, honey! The man’s built like a Mack truck. You see his boot size lately?”

 _Yes,_  Rook thinks.  _Except he was losing them in the mud and I didn’t get much of a chance to check them out because he was trying to bite my lips off._

“No,” Rook mumbles.

“Mmm, that’s a shame. Big man like him? I mean, he  _might_  be compensating, but I’m gonna be optimistic.” She holds up her hands like she’s about to give the measurements for a prize trout, but before she can make her estimates, Rook’s radio chirps.

“ _Deputy._ ” Jacob’s voice hisses through the speaker, low and breathy as usual. It makes both Rook and Adelaide jump, but probably for very different reasons. “ _You’ve been keeping a low profile lately. I was starting to wonder if I should be worried.”_

Rook doesn’t immediately grab her radio, even though Adelaide’s eyes are wide and her grin is halfway to predator. She frantically points at the mic clipped to Rook’s belt. “Answer him!” she stage-whispers, as though he can hear her.

With deliberately slow movements, Rook unclips the mic and tugs it close to her mouth before pressing her fingers down on the key. “No reason to be worried, Jacob,” she says, trying her best to sound casual. “I’m just as destructive as usual.”

There’s a  _long_  pause; long enough for Rook to think that maybe he signed off. The only thing she hears is static and the sound of a pair of ducks quacking happily nearby. Then, “ _Good to know,”_ Jacob says, although it comes out like a low growl. “ _You know, Deputy, if you ever get bored of playing out in the woods and making a mess, you could always come back home. I promise I’d make it exciting.”_

Rook nearly drops the radio, and Adelaide doesn’t even hold back a surprised, “Hot  _damn!”_

“Uh, I’ll pass,” Rook manages to reply, even though Adelaide is about two seconds from whacking her in the shoulder out of sheer excitement.

“ _Mm. We’ll see how long that lasts.”_

The radio goes dead before Rook can even try to reply, and she’s left in shocked silence for only a few seconds before Adelaide crows in something like victory.

“Oh my  _god,_  honey! If that ain’t the sound of a guy rockin’ a hard-on, then I don’t know dicks worth a damn.”

Rook tries to protest, but her tongue has about half a dozen false starts before she just shrugs miserably and clips the mic back in place.

Because honestly, she can’t tell if Jacob’s trying to flirt with her, or if he wants to ventilate her.

\- - -

Rook thinks Jacob might be trying to pay her back for the split lip, because he’s certainly biting at her like that’s the reason.

It’s their third attempt at kissing. The second attempt was three days after the fateful radio call (and those three days were full of Adelaide’s plentiful Jacob-themed innuendos), when Rook accidentally got a Bliss arrow to the thigh after she snuck up on a Hunter, and Jacob was the one to scrape her off the ground. Her memories of that are a little vague and probably more pleasant than it actually was, because all she can recall is a sparkly Jacob calling her clumsy, yanking the arrow out of her leg, and then kissing her.

 _Maybe_  kissing her. That might have just been the Bliss.

So the third kiss might be the second-and-a-half. And the second-and-a-half or third kiss is just about as refined and lovely as the first, because Jacob has her up against an equipment shed near the dam, one leg between her knees, and his  _goddamn wolf teeth_  doing a number to her lips.

Even so, she can’t help but kiss him back, clinging onto his jacket like a burr. Because by this point, after all the weird threats that might have been flirts, and the one or possibly two bizarre kisses that had far more blood involved than a normal relationship should have, she actually  _does_  like Jacob. She likes the way he leans into her like a cat when she runs her hands through his hair and gently scrapes his scalp, and she can’t help but imagine how much of a human radiator he would be under a few blankets. 

And apparently he likes her. At least, Rook  _thinks_  he does. It’s hard to tell when he kisses like a dog gnawing on a rawhide, but she believes he’s not doing it to blow off steam. Honestly, that would be risking a lot against the rest of his family. She decides to pull a (much more innocent) Adelaide and assume the best.

She gently pushes him back, both of them breathing hard, his hands a painful grip at the sides of her thighs. Rook thinks her lip must look like it hand a chance encounter with a meat grinder, but she smiles sheepishly regardless.

“I used to have a policy of not kissing on the first date,” she says, smoothing out a crease in his collar. “I don’t think I planned on kissing before I even went on a date at all.”

One eyebrow goes up, and it makes Jacob look very skeptical. “You want to go on a date?”

She laughs. “I mean, it’s a little limited around here. Like wine and dine me while we watch Sharky roast some Angels on an open fire?”

At first, Rook thinks Jacob might take her seriously, because he seems exactly the type of person to try to make a romantic outing out of watching people get slow-roasted. Then again, she doesn’t think the patrons of the Spread Eagle would take too well to Jacob Seed calling in reservations. They’d probably end up having to pull a Lady and the Tramp and eat spaghetti behind a dumpster.

Then, Rook sees a smile start to form on his face, as slow as a sunrise.

He doesn’t answer, but he  _does_  kiss her again.

It isn’t any better than the first one and a half times, but Rook enjoys it all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://radiojamming.tumblr.com)


End file.
